


Caliborn ==> Look in the Mirror

by twii2ted_8333335



Series: Caliborn ==> [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Did I mention fluff?, Fluff, Fluff and Mush, Fluffy Ending, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Humanstuck, M/M, Minor Kismesissitude, Sappy, Sappy Strider BS, Self Image Issues, many kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twii2ted_8333335/pseuds/twii2ted_8333335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You," You pause for effect and to look him square in the eyes, "are the sappiest piece of shit I've ever had the misfortune of dating." </p><p>He laughs at you. "I'm the only piece of shit you've ever had the misfortune of dating."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caliborn ==> Look in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> It's like 1:50 am where I am. I am not held responsible for how this turned out. I'm just hoping it's got some semblance of in characterness. 
> 
> I even looked over it for typos yo

You don't want to but it's necessary for your routine. You need to at least pretend that you care what you look like when you leave the house. Not that brushing your hair does much unless you gelled it down; even after extensively combing it, chocolate brown locks are still sticking out at odd angles. You're actually contemplating shaving it off again but you can't really afford it right now. You can't afford much of anything right now, not even sleep — and that's free. There's dark circles under your eyes that won't go away even if you do sleep well at night. The lack of sleep just makes them stand out even more against the paleness of your skin. You hate it. 

Your gums bleed when you brush your teeth, too hard again, taking out your anger and frustration at your reflection on them. You force yourself to look away from the mirror.

Your name is Caliborn and damn it, your last name is English although you hold no relation to a certain Jake English, local fucking "hot guy" in town. He gets you so riled up still, it's awful. It's morning, damn it, you should not be ready to punch a wall already. 

You don't even agree with the stipulation that Jake is the hottest guy of his age — but then again, you already have your own "hot guy" in your grasp: Dirk Strider, technological master and lover of embarrassing you in public with kisses and hand holding. It's not that you don't enjoy the affection. It's a rather nice change of pace, being able to touch him without mentally berating yourself for days after, but you just aren't used to displaying a weakness like that in front of people who know you as the kid who fought a teacher and won. Very nearly got expelled for it, but still won. 

Strider actually comes into your bathroom not long after that. He comes up behind you, wearing loose pajama pants but his chest is bare against your equally naked back. His head rests on your shoulder — you're around the same height so it's not that difficult for him — one arm wrapping around your waist, just above where your boxers rest. His other hand reaches passed you to the sink, idly running water on his fingers and then onto a dark bruise on his neck. You grumble a smidgen of an apology for the rough treatment.

You see his smile in the mirror.

You stay there for a while, his arms around your waist, his lips pressing lightly against your neck. He looks tired but content just standing here with you. 

"I'm getting my hair cut," is what you break the silence with, and you're a little surprised by the sound of your own voice. There's a sense of satisfaction in your tone. It's unnerving, unfamiliar, the way that calm was weeks ago when Strider was a just a challenge, just a game you denied wanting more out of. You don't think you like that he can do this to you, make you so easily let go. 

You don't like the face he's making either, disappointment glowing in those molten eyes of his. His lips are still against the dip of your shoulder where it meets your neck, breath warm and even. You feel him sigh more than hear it. His hand runs through your hair on the opposite side from where he's leaning against you, as if savoring the way it feels in his grip. It almost makes you reconsider — you love this feeling immensely.

"I look better without it," you try to reason, looking back at yourself in the mirror instead of at Dirk. You see yourself scowl a little at the sight but you don't feel your muscles move at all.

"You look better either way," He mutters into your skin. You almost don't hear him, he's so quiet. "You're beautiful, Caliborn." He resumes kissing at your neck, not trying progress the situation. He's never actually spoken about your looks so bluntly. There are days when you feel you look like shit and he'll fluff your hair a bit, say you look fine, but never just outright compliment you like that. It actually makes you flush a little. 

You think he can tell you don't believe him, which is the freaky thing about him. He always seems to be able to see into someone's soul, to see their true intentions and emotions. It doesn't help that if you're calm like this, you're more open than a brothel bitch's legs. It's terrible, really.

He turns you to look at him, hands on the upper half of your arms, eyes staring straight at you. You really want to punch him for giving you that pitying look but you don't. You huff and look down instead, wishing he'd just hurry up with whatever he feels the need to do. It's unnerving just having him stare at you like this. 

"You're beautiful. You're beautiful and handsome and it doesn't matter if you have hair down to your knees or none at all. It doesn't matter if you've got skin paler than a goddamn sparkling vampire — " You both cringe. " — or a pigmentation that makes you greener than the green giant. It doesn't matter if you have a face as clear as the sky at night or one so littered with pimples that you legitimately look like a pizza. It doesn't matter, Caliborn. Do what you want and believe what you want, you're still going to be beautiful when I look at you."

You look up at him with what you hope is disgust at this outrageous outburst but you can feel yourself smiling like he'd just told you he'd bought you a one way ticket to the top of the social world. He would definitely win best boyfriend award at that rate. 

"You," You pause for effect and to look him square in the eyes, "are the sappiest piece of shit I've ever had the misfortune of dating." 

He laughs at you. "I'm the only piece of shit you've ever had the misfortune of dating." He pushes his hands into your hair, using the grip as leverage for a kiss. "You love me anyway." 

And it's true. You do love him. 

You love him right until the moment that he splashes water on your face when you think he's going to brush his teeth. Then you hate him enough to splash water right back. 

It escalates until you're both somehow in the shower, clothes clinging to yourselves and each other, bodies aching from where you slipped in the tub and pulled him down with you. Then you love him again because he lightly pushes you and laughs and you do the same, and you both just sit there for a moment, sopping wet and tired and happy.

You're happy. It's unnerving but it's growing on you.

You brush a strand of dripping hair out of your eyes. Maybe you won't cut it just yet. 

But not because of Strider. It's because you can't afford it, and maybe you do like having your hair this length. It absolutely has no relation to Strider whatsoever. 

Not even when he grips it to kiss you again.

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon: My Caliborn hates Twilight more than Canon!Caliborn hates Calliope. And everyone else.
> 
> This is also supposed to be part 5 but it won't let me say that yet. -︴︴- unamused dualscar//


End file.
